


Take your peace from me (I take mine from you)

by Sovin



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Fluff, Multi, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 20:04:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2520074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sovin/pseuds/Sovin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Les Amis de l'ABC is the best known and most effective superhero team that Paris has seen in decades. That doesn't mean that they can't be a little more vulnerable, when they're not out fighting crime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take your peace from me (I take mine from you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whimsicalimages](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicalimages/gifts).



> Written for the Les Mis Trick or Treat 2014 exchange, for [keensers](http://www.keensers.tumblr.com/), who is [whimsicalimages](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicalimages/pseuds/whimsicalimages) here on AO3. She asked for a superhero AU with a handful of suggested pairings, so that's what I went with. (And maybe tumblr stalked her for some ideas/likes/dislikes, whoops.) But yes! Happy Halloween! I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Disclaimer here, of course.
> 
> So, here's a couple thousand words of fluffy domestic fluff involving superheroes and their dorky partners and affection all around. As always, feel free to hit me up over on [my tumblr](http://www.sovinly.tumblr.com), where I'm happy to chat. (And, y'know, ramble about things that didn't make it in here, for sake of time and mood.) All the dialogue is presented as a general gloss, whether it's French or LSF because, well, they're French, as per usual.

It’s definitely not Bossuet’s fault that there’s no one in the café and that the newscasters are spending plenty of time covering Les Amis de l’ABC’s fight against the latest supervillain to invade Paris. They’re in fine form, and he keeps seeing flashes of Musichetta’s red hood on the screen, pulled up and searing color across the gritty rubble. They’ve managed to contain the fight to a demolished lot at the edges of the city, and seem to have it well in hand.

All that said, he can’t really be blamed when he gets distracted from cleaning up by watching it on his phone.

Grantaire apparently agrees, because he looks more amused than anything as he touches Bossuet’s elbow to get his attention. His curls are fighting free of the short ponytail, but the counters and equipment are clean. “Good fighting, then?”

“Excellent,” Bossuet says, then grins a little sheepishly. “You should have let me know, I would have helped. I didn’t even notice we were closing.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “You would have broken the espresso machine again. C’mon, let’s close the blinds and go home. Maybe everyone will actually be back in time for dinner.”

“No need to sound so sarcastic.” He elbows Grantaire lightly, going around the counter to close the blinds, with the sun already well on its way to setting this time of year. “They’re all in dine form today and won’t dare be plate for your excellent cooking.”

“Ugh, that pun was forking horrible,” he groans, but he’s grinning, and Bossuet can see that the slight furrow in his brows – the one that he gets every time his boyfriends are off fighting for the people – eases a little.

It doesn’t take long at all to lock up and retreat into the hidden hallway in the back, where the secret elevator is tucked away. Bossuet lives in a secret superhero base, and he wonders frequently how his life is this absolutely amazing. They descend into the slightly mazelike structure beneath the coffee shop that is their cover. Or, well, it’s Les Amis’ base’s secret cover, and Bossuet and Grantaire, as their token non-hero members, actually run the shop, with the occasional help from whoever is free. Bossuet is privately amazed that the shop does as well as it does.

The whole complex underneath it, though, is warm and kind of reminds him of Hogwarts. They step out into the plush living room-lounge thing, and it feels empty even though Bahorel’s favorite blanket is still balled up on the long couch and there’s the faint sound of someone cooking in the kitchen. Grantaire claps Bossuet’s shoulder and heads off down the hall, but Bossuet just wanders into the kitchen. Bahorel and Jehan, who are currently on night patrols, are there. Bahorel is cooking, tattoos lining his bare arms, while Jehan slumps over the counter, still waking up.

Bossuet signs a hello to them, because Bahorel’s hearing aids are nowhere to be seen, and receives one in return, and catches them up on the day’s events with awful puns that make Jehan cover his eyes dramatically and Bahorel throw his head back in a laugh. Still, he keeps his eye on his phone and his twitter feed, keeping abreast of the fight. And even when there’s the triumphant announcement of their victory and the full color photos from the scene of it (some he saves to show them later), it’s still going to be ages before they get home, so he starts on dinner. It’s quiet without Gavroche – technically the collective sidekick of Les Amis, but that’s also so he won’t go off on his own – but he’s at a friend’s house and is staying the night, which Bossuet is glad for if it means he’s missed the fighting.

Grantaire wanders in eventually, hair damp, and bumps Bossuet out of the way to take over. He only pauses to let Bahorel and Jehan know that Floreal and The Banker will be joining the two of them on patrol tonight. It’s nice to know they won’t be alone, though they rarely are – usually the division is a little more even but today’s threat had been larger than usual, and most of them had gone to deal with it, so the back-up is even more welcome. Especially because, for someone who is pretty much the human equivalent of Christmas tree lights in terms of powers, Grantaire seems to know what’s going on everywhere and who in Paris is worth trusting.

Bahorel’s powers, as well known as he is for his martial skills, for his punches and fierceness, are healing oriented. While they keep him and those he works with safe, Bossuet always worries anyway. Jehan sets things to decaying and is more than capable of staying safe, but is just also hyperaware of the possibility of accidents. But they work well together, as do all of them – the most effective superhero team Paris has seen in decades.

Eventually, Bahorel and Jehan go to change and get ready while Grantaire cooks and jokes with Bossuet, and makes tantalizing comments about paella if they get to the markets for fresh seafood in the morning. Marius knocks at the door, almost shyly, but he grins when he sees Bossuet, signing an enthusiastic hello. Bossuet returns the greeting, asking Marius questions about his day as he escorts him back down and into the kitchen, because Marius always gets antsy in the aftermath of big battles - even successful ones - while he waits for Courfeyrac and Cosette to come home and always seems to feel awkward waiting with whoever's around, even though he's known about Les Amis and the bunker for months. Bossuet is pretty sure Cosette and Courfeyrac don’t actually know there are bets about when they’ll ask Marius to move in, since it’s not like any of the rest of them would _mind_.

Marius only really relaxes when Grantaire starts signing with him about some new language thing, and Bossuet settles in to watch, keeping half an eye on the oven so the bread doesn’t burn and calling good luck to Bahorel and Jehan as they head out, and resigns himself to more restless waiting.

\--

Today has been a good day, for all that Musichetta feels exhausted as they clean up the site of the battle. Some days are solemn, but this feels cleanly like a victory, and it's not cocky overconfidence, just pride that they've done so well and that there were so few injuries. The supervillain has already been cuffed and turned over to await trial, and she doesn't hear the earth or few nearby buildings groaning like they'll shift and shatter, so that's a good thing, too.

All of them are tiring, though – even Courfeyrac is quiet and not flicking little flames from his fingers to amuse the rest of them, and when Bahorel shows himself briefly - just close enough for Éponine to catch sight of him with her long-range and well-honed vision - she's relieved. She's ready to go _home_ and shower and eat and finally, finally sleep.

Joly falls in step with her as they wend their way through the hidden trails through and under and across Paris, looking as exhausted as she feels. He'll need to take a break soon, to keep from hurting himself too badly and burning out, but for now they just share a weary smile and clasp hands briefly.

Enjolras, at the front, is limping slightly, but he refuses to let Combeferre take any of his weight. Courfeyrac, on the other side, looks like he might step in anyway, and Éponine and Cosette are sharing a sort of cheerful exhaustion with Feuilly. Musichetta's heart swells as she watches them, because she has the _best_ family, the sort she'd never thought she could have when she found out she had powers, but it's the greatest thing.

She doesn't need those powers to hear the way the chatter picks up and they all perk when they get to the base, Enjolras letting them into the part where they keep all of the actual equipment and data. Everything is as they left it, and though some of them - including Joly - head for the showers immediately, Musichetta wants a Bossuet hug and whatever there is for food.

Musichetta barely has time to step into the kitchen and hold out her arms before Bossuet's swept her in for a hug, and she hugs back just as tightly, humming happily when he kisses her sweetly, cuddling her a little.

“Hello, l’aigle,” she greets, cuddling closer and letting him tip her mask off her face without complaint. “Did you get into trouble without us?”

“Not as much as I’d have liked,” Bossuet informs her mournfully, nuzzling noses, and she can see him relax as he studies her face before he grins. “You know I’m terrible at trouble without you and Joly around. It means R and I have to be almost _responsible_ ; it’s terrifying.”

Musichetta laughs and pulls him down for another kiss, humming happily. He grounds her, with his good nature and easy going cheer, and it’s a reprieve from the intensity of everything being a super in this city demands. It's only when her stomach grumbles that she pulls back a bit, looking for Grantaire. "Tell me there’s something delicious for hungry little me?"

"Walnut pesto pasta with chicken and sundried tomatoes, fresh salad on the side," he says cheerfully, wrapping his arms around her when she goes to hug him next, and she can feel some of the tension leave him as he snuggles her. "Also bread, fresh baked, and Bossuet helped. Though clearly I am awesomer at cooking."

"Clearly," Musichetta agrees. "Now feed me, Seymour, before your boyfriends come whining for you."

Neither Combeferre nor Enjolras show up while she's wolfing down the dinner she should probably be appreciating more (though that's what leftovers are for), but Courfeyrac wanders in and lights up to see Marius there, spinning him around and dipping him for a kiss. It leaves Marius blushing as they sign rapidly, only pausing when Courfeyrac starts to eye Musichetta's plate enviously.

She kisses Grantaire's cheek when he takes her finished plate and then she kisses Bossuet, lingering in silent promise of more later, and almost runs into Joly on her way out. It sends them both into peals of laughter and Musichetta kisses him, too, already hearing the explosion of puns as she trots off toward the room she shares with Joly and Bossuet to take a shower.

It feels _awesome_ and she takes longer than is probably necessary, but she feels warm and content when she steps out, even if her hair is a puffy mess of curls. She coaxes it into a braid so she can sleep, and beams when she finds both of her boys already in the bed, squeaking happily as she flops down on the free side.

“Hello, darlings,” she says, and immediately cuddles up to Bossuet’s side. “This is _awesome_. I’m comforterable already.”

“You might even say this is the sheet,” Joly pipes up, trying and failing miserably to keep himself from smirking when they both snicker. The water glass on the nightstand is half drained, so he’s already taken all the medication he needs to, and the exhaustion under the joke is deeper than it should be.

Musichetta reaches over, squeezing his hand, but it’s Bossuet who pets down his hair and steals a kiss.

“Gonna fall asleep on us, Jolllly?” he asks. “I wouldn’t bed against it – you look tired.”

Joly smiles reassuringly at them, stealing kisses from both. “Certainly. And then I’m going to let the rest of these slackers pick up the work while I take a week off to pester you and R in the shop. I promise I won’t even scare people off this time.”

“Yes, you will,” Musichetta says, mock severely, kissing the tip of his nose. “I know you, you’re going to flash the spooky demon cat eyes at someone and Bossuet and R are going to have to try to keep straight faces when they act confused. While I’m off being a responsible adult. Dramatic sigh.”

“I’ll take pictures,” Bossuet promises. “It will be hilarious. Speaking of, guess who’s gonna be splashed all over the covers of the papers in the morning?”

Musichetta wrinkles her nose but throws out a casual quip. “Well, it’s probably not Combeferre.”

“If you managed to get a good photo of Combeferre in action, we would be swimming in money. A small fish tank full of money, but still.” Bossuet looks like he’s imagining that for a moment before he nods sagely. “But, no! You and Feuilly are the winners this week – it’s very striking, and they do love the mysterious lady in the red cape.”

She sighs dramatically, flopping over into Bossuet’s lap. “I knew this gig was a terrible idea. I am a fad, an idol, a passing fancy and muse, a statuette to be discarded the moment Enjolras lets down his lovely hair or Éponine stops giving the camera a piercing glare. Joly, share my misery.”

“I can’t do that, I’m afraid,” he says, trying to sound regretful. “You know how it is, you tell just _one_ reporter that a direct image of you will melt their expensive fancy cameras and they’re suddenly all terrified to test it.”

“They’ll catch you eventually, and we’ll see who’s laughing then,” Musichetta tells him upside-down, trying to look disapproving. Joly just blinks at her guilelessly while Bossuet snickers.

“Just lens it go,” he advises, eyes bright and amused.

She clicks her tongue. “I should; I shutter to think of what he’d do with the fame.”

“It would only be a flash and then it would be gone before I could develop it,” Joly sighs as Musichetta leans down to pull the covers up over all three of them and snuggles back in again, completely happy.

“Wanna watch cheesy terrible movies until we fall asleep?” she offers, and reaches for her laptop when Joly and Bossuet both just grin at her. They’re already bickering good naturedly about what they should watch as she turns it on, and Musichetta ducks her head to hide her pleased grin, because she doesn’t even need to listen for the affection in their voices to know it’s there.

\--

Because Grantaire is a horrible wonderful boyfriend, he makes a cup of chai with milk and adds sugar as soon as he’s finished cleaning up from dinner, and tells Enjolras it’s on the counter as he leans around the chair to kisses his cheek. The stuff is so rich he couldn’t drink half a cup before feeling sick, but it’s an excellent way to bribe Enjolras away from the newsfeeds and data processing that can wait until later, when he’s had some sleep and stopped running a mile a minute. He doesn’t even feel guilty – Enjolras never eats enough and he’s more worn out than he’s letting on.

Still, he just smiles at the absent nod of acknowledgement and starts to head back to get ready for bed. Feuilly and Éponine have one of the gaming systems hooked up and have made a nest of pillows and blankets in front of the TV, and they’re so busy deciding what to put in that they barely even bother to say hello as he passes. Grantaire just tells them to have fun and leaves them to it.

Combeferre is sprawled on his stomach on their large, comfortable bed in just his boxers and a t-shirt when Grantaire enters the bedroom. He’s got his braces on, and his knees have got to be bothering him, but he looks blissfully content as he reads – not at superspeed but a more languid pace.

Grantaire tosses his jeans into the hamper after fishing out everything from his pockets and goes to brush his teeth before settling in beside Combeferre, kissing his shoulder (and you know what, he just decides he’s not thinking of scars or memories at all, not tonight) as he drapes an arm around him. “Whatcha reading?”

“Sci-fi murder mystery,” Combeferre tells him, turning his head for a soft kiss. “My bet is on the sketchy human empire’s ambassador.”

“They probably did it too – can’t trust ‘em. You’ll have to let me know how it ends.” He snuggles a little closer, playing with the ends of Combeferre’s hair as he finishes the chapter in moments and sets the book aside. "You feeling okay?"

"Mm-hm." Combeferre leans into Grantaire's touch a little, reaching for his free hand and tangling their fingers together affectionately. "No injuries to speak of. Just a little pain from all of the running, but you know that will go down by tomorrow night."

Grantaire huffs a little. "Still. I'm glad you're taking care of yourself tonight. Need some ice or heat or anything?"

Combeferre shakes his head. "I'm alright. Tell me about work today?"

He obliges, telling Combeferre quietly about the more amusing customers until Enjolras shuffles in, looking sleepy and favoring his leg a little. He gives them a tired smile as he gets ready for bed, and then rolls his eyes at them affectionately as he actually climbs under the thick layer of covers. Technically, they could turn the heat up without problem, but Enjolras is a blanket fiend and neither Grantaire nor Combeferre is going to complain.

Enjolras doesn't have the tightness at the corners of his eyes that suggests he's having a bad night (worrying about his contacts in various parts of the world, or remembering losses and failures, or tormented by thoughts of what could go wrong), so Grantaire doesn't tell him to switch with Combeferre as they join him under the blankets. It happens, sometimes – they all have bad nights – but tonight seems easy. For once, it's an uncomplicated victory that's left them tired but cheerful, and it's _nice_.

It's also freaking adorable, because Enjolras latches onto Combeferre's waist and curls in close, sleepily pressing his face against his shoulder before blinking over at Grantaire. "I can tell when you're bribing me, you know."

"It worked, didn't it?" Grantaire drawls, but he shuffles closer, settling at Combeferre's arm around him as he kisses Enjolras and lays a hand on his arm.

Enjolras huffs, but he looks more amused than anything, and Combeferre doesn't even try to conceal his smile at them both.

They lapse into comfortable silence for a minute, simply enjoying one another's presence, and Grantaire tries not to fidget. He tries so hard not to worry, but it gets to him – he's terrified that one day one of them will come back in bad shape, or not at all, and that lurks at the back of his mind, even when there are only little injuries. Biting back a sigh, he smooths his thumb over Enjolras' arm, touch gentle. "You were limping a bit."

"Turned my ankle a little, nothing that will take Bahorel any time at all to fix in the morning," Enjolras soothes, cupping his hand around Grantaire's jaw, his eyes softening a little. "We're okay. It's all okay. You are, too?"

"Fit as Combeferre's fiddle," Grantaire replies, closing his eyes and grinning at Combeferre's dry murmur that he plays it as a violin as his fiddling skills are subpar, kissing Enjolras' hand and then Combeferre's jaw. "Seriously, we're okay."

Enjolras frets about things like that – they all do when it comes to their civilian partners. Grantaire privately thinks it's a bit silly, since even if he can't do more than make cute little balls of light in his hand, he has more than enough skill and tenacity to surprise any wannabe overlord he's ever run into. Bossuet, for all that he has no orientational skills and is terrified of heights, can actually fly, and even Marius, precious freckly moppet that he is, has hidden depths.

Besides, even if one of them did get captured, the others would come for them in an instant, and Grantaire's major life goal is basically to not get fridged for anyone's character development. But there's no use telling Enjolras that, let alone Combeferre with his quieter, kinder, deeper worry, so he coaxes kisses out of both of them instead. "So, day off tomorrow. Plans?"

"Work," Enjolras says promptly, and then relents when Combeferre and Grantaire both just look at him. "... We could go to a museum? Or the markets?"

"Better," Combeferre tells him, teasing gently, and kisses his forehead. "We'll figure it all out in the morning, after getting some sleep."

They still end up talking it over a little more, tossing out ideas and bringing up all the things they intended to do last week that they never got around to, but it's clear that Enjolras and Combeferre are both entirely exhausted even before Enjolras starts letting out sleepy little noises.

It's warm and comfortable, and even though Grantaire isn't anywhere tired enough to fall asleep, he'd rather stay tangled up with them than slip out to join Feuilly and Éponine who probably won’t be up that much longer anyway. He fumbles his phone to silent on the nightstand while Enjolras reaches over to turn off the lamp on his side of the bed and Combeferre reluctantly peels off the braces and tosses them carelessly off the bed. It's a familiar routine, and there's a flurry of drowsy, fumbling kisses as they curl in tighter.

"Enjolras?" Combeferre murmurs sleepily, somehow managing not to get a mouthful of Grantaire's curls, resting his cheek against his head. "Alarms."

Enjolras curses, fumbling in the dark and sending his phone tumbling to the floor, and he's definitely pouting a little. "Grantaire...?"

"Fine, fine," Grantaire says, trying to sound put upon but really just amused as he buries his face tighter against Combeferre's shoulder, lifting a hand and letting three softly glowing lights, no bigger than marbles, gather in his palm.

Enjolras retrieves his phone and turns off the alarms, shuffling around a little, before leaning across Combeferre to kiss Grantaire's cheek. "Thank you."

"Mm-hm." He lets the lights fade and his hand drop back down, feeling quietly happy and affectionate.

The insomnia isn't kind enough to let him sleep so early, but Enjolras and Combeferre are asleep in minutes, and he's happy to drift and listen to the sound of their breathing in the warm dark of their bedroom, soothing and steady.

\--

When Courfeyrac wakes up, he’s curled up around Cosette’s back, his arm wrapped firmly around her, and he can feel Marius’ fingers in his hair. It doesn’t matter what time it is, how early or how late, because he’s just happy not to be woken by alarms. He presses a kiss to Cosette’s bare shoulder – because none of them are wearing anything after last night – and yawns, blinking blearily up at Marius.

He signs a sloppy good morning and Marius smiles back, his whole face lighting up, even if he looks a little sheepish as he removes his hand from Courfeyrac’s hair, freeing both of his hands.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” he asks, a little shy and apologetic.

Courfeyrac shakes his head, leaning over to steal a sleepy kiss, careful not to call fire to his hands as he replies. “No, not at all. Best way to wake up ever. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes. Did you?” Marius asks, with a slight head tilt, smile still soft. He looks adorable in the mornings, freckles scattered over his shoulders and hair mussed and messy.

Courfeyrac maybe just wants to kiss him forever and wake up with him there every morning. They really need to ask him to move in, out of the tiny, ratty apartment he currently occupies. But for now, he confines himself to nodding before he has to stifle another yawn, stretching. In his absence, Cosette has curled closer to Marius and stolen some of the blankets, and Marius is looking down at her with the sweetest look, like she’s taking his breath away just by existing.

He watches them, grinning and happy, content in a way that sinks in deep down. It feels warmer than fire, low and gentle and just really, really nice. There’s a faint clatter from somewhere down the hall that makes Cosette sigh and flop over, grabbing for Courfeyrac’s pillow and curling around it, rolled up in blankets like a precious little crêpe.

Courfeyrac informs Marius of that and maybe kind of melts a little to see the way he hides his smile and his silent laughter as he shakes his head affectionately.

“I know, I’m ridiculous.” Courfeyrac is shameless about the fact, and Marius and Cosette both seem to find it endearing. “Sounds like they’re making breakfast. Do you want to go get some?”

Marius nods and leans over to kiss Courfeyrac before they make their way out of bed. Cosette doesn’t stir as they dress, but she probably won’t be up for another half hour or so anyway, and he’s not going to wake her intentionally. Instead, he pulls on some pajamas and passes Marius his spare pair from the dresser, and then holds his hand as they walk.

Gavroche is back, sound asleep in the living room in the middle of a blanket nest and someone (Éponine, it could have been any of them, but probably Éponine) has made sure he’s got a blanket over him. He’s a good kid, and he’ll make a great hero someday, if they can keep him out of trouble until then. Courfeyrac knows that Éponine hopes that Azelma will join them, but only time will tell if that will happen. But they’re still moving, so he shakes the thought off.

“I smell coffee,” Courfeyrac calls as they step into the open plan dining room and kitchen. “Pity us and share?”

“Only because I like you and was getting more anyway,” Éponine replies, and her mouth twitches up in a smile at them both, clutching her mug in her hands as she rises, nodding to Marius, who smiles back.

The table is crowded already, which makes him smile. Éponine pats Bahorel’s shoulder as she heads for the kitchen, and Bahorel half-heartedly swats at her hand, drinking deeply from his coffee mug. He looks exhausted, but none the worse for the wear, probably ready to collapse into bed after their late breakfast. Jehan, on his other side, is sprawled on the table, one hand curled around a mug but blinking drowsily at them, mustering something that might have been a wave.

Joly pats Jehan’s head and both calls and signs a cheerful good morning, chirpy and pleased. He’s sitting in the red-framed wheelchair that they keep on hand for whenever it’s needed, and Courfeyrac isn’t sure if he’s giving his joints a break or if it was just the closest seat. They really need to invest in more chairs, because Bossuet’s sitting in a wheely-chair from the office-slash-command center and wearing one of Musichetta’s scarves around his bald head and Courfeyrac doesn’t even want to know.

“Don’t ask,” Combeferre agrees, a few seats down the table, looking amused but fond as he meets Courfeyrac’s eyes. Enjolras is clearly still only on his first cup of coffee, slumped against Combeferre’s side with his curls sticking up in strange tangled clumps, his eyes mostly closed.

“I know better,” Courfeyrac says, taking a seat across from them and smiling when Marius sits next to him. Éponine snorts, handing him and Marius both coffee before she sits back down.

“But do you really?”

“Courfeyrac knows nothing,” Feuilly calls from the kitchen, signing a good morning to them as well. He's helping with the production that is breakfast, pulling more ingredients out of the fridge, and he looks a hundred times better for a good night's sleep.

Musichetta looks more chipper, too, as she slices tomatoes at the counter, wearing one of Joly's old t-shirts and a silky looking robe with the sleeves pushed up, snorting quietly at Feuilly's comment. Grantaire just has that look he gets when they're all together, eyes softening and mouth curving up as if despite himself, curls fluffed up and kind of swimming in one of Combeferre's ridiculously comfortable sweaters.

Speak of the Devil, Combeferre nudges Courfeyrac with his foot, glasses perched precariously on his nose. "You're looking pleased this morning."

"I am so pleased with everything and I just really love you guys a lot," Courfeyrac tells him, nudging back and grinning shamelessly. "We don't get to do breakfast with all of us here often."

"Well, if you'd just fuckin' do the thing, it would get a lot easier," Bahorel points out in a low rumble, with a significant look at Marius, his teasing good natured.

"All in good time," Cosette replies from the doorway before Courfeyrac can, dropping a kiss to the top of Marius' head after touching his shoulder to let him know she's there. She's still blinking away sleep as she takes the seat between Courfeyrac and Éponine, eyes narrowing in thought before she steals Courfeyrac's coffee and leans against him. "But we will."

She nuzzles under Courfeyrac's jaw, smiling up at him happily. He smiles back and then wraps an arm around Marius, and he is pretty sure he's just not going to stop smiling all day. That sounds like an excellent plan.

It's not long before Feuilly is banished from the kitchen and signing a rapid conversation with Marius, who looks fascinated, and Gavroche shuffles in demanding cocoa as he drops down in the chair beside a slightly more awake-looking Enjolras, now on his second cup of coffee. Joly and Bossuet have even managed to rouse Jehan and are making Bahorel laugh, with Éponine hiding a smile badly in her mug.

Courfeyrac, for once, is content to sit back and watch them all, and he's so thankful for this and for all of them. It's a loud, chaotic, completely _ridiculous_ family, but he's so proud of them and the way the make the city even more worth saving, and he never wants to let it go.

\--


End file.
